"Dear Dick, pr'ythee tell by what passion you move? The world is in doubt whether hatred or love; And, while at good Cashel you rail with such spite, They shrewdly suspect it is all but a bite. You certainly know, though so loudly you vapour, His spite cannot wound who attempted the Drapier. Then, pr'ythee, reflect, take a word of advice; And, as your old wont is, change sides in a trice: On his virtues hold forth; 'tis the very best way; And say of the man what all honest men say. But if, still obdurate, your anger remains, If still your foul bosom more rancour contains, Say then more than they, nay, lavishly flatter; 'Tis your gross panegyrics alone can bespatter; For thine, my dear Dick, give me leave to speak plain, Like very foul mops, dirty more than they clean." [Footnote 1: Dr. Theophilus Bolton. [T.S.]] The letter to the Earl of Dorset, containing Swift's version of the story is as follows: "January, 1734. "MY LORD, "It has been my great misfortune that since your grace's return to this kingdom I have not been able to attend you, as my duty and gratitude for your favours as well as the honour of having been so many years known to you obliged me to do. I have been pursued by two old disorders, a giddiness and deafness, which used to leave me in three or four weeks, but now have continued four months. Thus I am put under a necessity to write what I would rather have chosen to say in your grace's presence. "On Monday last week towards evening there came to the deanery one Mr. Bettesworth; who, being told by the servants that I was gone to a friend's house,[1] went thither to inquire for me, and was admitted into the street parlour. I left my company in the back room and went to him. He began with asking me 'whether I were the author of certain verses wherein he was reflected on.' The singularity of the man, in his countenance, manner, action, style, and tone of voice, made me call to mind that I had once seen him about two or three years ago at Mr. Ludlow's country-house. But I could not recollect his name; and of what calling he might be I had never heard. I therefore desired to know who and what he was; said 'I had heard of some such verses, but knew no more.' He then signified to me 'that he was a serjeant-at-law and a member of parliament.' After which he repeated the lines that concerned him with great emphasis; said 'I was mistaken in one thing, for he assured me he was no booby, but owned himself to be a coxcomb.' However, that being a point of controversy wherein I had no concern, I let it drop. As to the verses, he insisted, 'that by his taste and skill in poetry he was as sure I wrote them as if he had seen them fall from my pen.' But I found the chief weight of his argument lay upon two words that rhymed to his name, which he knew could come from none but me. He then told me 'that, since I would not own the verses, and that since he